Rogue's Reason
by SeshatHawk
Summary: Just a bit of angsting on Rogue's part after Gambit returns to the X-Men.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to Marvel. The plot and story belong to me. Please don't steal them.

Rogue's Reason 

I stared blankly into the second-from-the-top drawer of my lingerie cabinet. I was doing that often, starting to do something, and then freezing, overcome with feeling. To me, every day seemed to be dark and dreary, no matter how bright and sunny it really was outside. Today, it truly was dark and dreary; the rain was pouring down in sheets. For once, the weather matched my mood perfectly. Well, almost perfectly--my mood and my thoughts were more like a whirlwind, a tornado of guilt and fear, than a storm.

A lingerie cabinet is just a tall, narrow chest of drawers, with maybe five or six little drawers. Its purpose it to hold underwear in it, but you can keep whatever you want in it. One of my "dark" secrets is that I actually use it for what it was made for--holding lingerie. The bottom three drawers were filled to the brim with lacy, silky, and satiny undergarments, meant to be worn when with a lover. It makes no sense for me; if I wore things like that, then my lover wouldn't be able to get close to me. But it's kind of like a guilty pleasure. It's something I can never have. I have dozens of romance novels, from the trashy kind to the true-love kind that's actually worth reading. They make me wish and dream of the kind of relationship I would love to have. It's a habit I picked up after I absorbed Carol Danvers permanently and joined the X-Men. After Carol, I didn't really do a lot of absorbing. Not on purpose, anyway. The lingerie is another part of that dream, and sort of a crazy habit. I like to wear pretty underwear, always matching sets, under my clothes where no one can see them. I don't know why I do it. I really torture myself this way, hoarding g-strings and teddies in the drawers of the lingerie cabinet. Things I would wear if I could actually touch the man I loved.

Tears burned my eyes, and I snatched a pair of underwear out of the drawer and slammed it shut. I tried not to think, not to stop and consider the things I had done. It was easier just to feel, to let the feelings make me numb. I threw the underwear over on the bed with the rest of the outfit I had laid out--jeans and a white shirt covered with lavender flowers. Then I turned back to the lingerie cabinet, and opened the top drawer. It was filled with gloves. I suppose gloves have always been an important thing in my life. They're a necessity to me. I can't go out into the day without gloves. How else would I come into contact with people? I have gloves in every color of the rainbow, most of them only wrist-length but a few pairs come up to my elbows or higher. I have to have gloves to match every outfit I own. I want to coordinate. If I have to be trapped inside a shell of clothing, then I can at least make everything match. Every time I buy a new shirt, or a new outfit, I buy a pair of gloves to go with it. I suppose I have way too many pairs, but I want to keep all of them. Just in case...

I picked out the lavender pair that I had bought when I bought the shirt. I closed the drawer; threw the gloves on the bed. Slowly, I pulled the towel-turban off of my damp hair, and let it fall to the ground. I changed out of the white T-shirt I had slept in into the outfit I had chosen. Then I brushed my hair, staring into the mirror. My sad, miserable face stared back at me. I breathed a little harder as I felt an extra push of guilt and sadness, and tried to push it away. Did I really deserve to feel this way? I finished brushing my hair, and pulled it back in a ponytail with a hair elastic. Then I tied a lavender ribbon over the elastic. My white bangs hung in my eyes, but I did nothing to them. I only glared at my reflection in the mirror. I've always hated my white stripe. It looks so fake, so hideous. It's the thing I hate most about myself, aside from the obvious--my powers. People have told me that the stripe looks great--beautiful, unique, exotic. They're wrong. Storm--Ororo--is exotic. I'm just a girl. Ororo is the one who is beautiful and unique and exotic. I'm just...a failure. I shook my thoughts from my head. Maybe I should just dye my hair and get it over with. Make it all the same color. Everyone would tell me not to, but no one would really complain.

I sighed and went downstairs for breakfast. I know that I'm too hard on myself, but lately I think I deserve it. I just don't know what to do. I feel helpless, hopeless. I'm drifting on the ocean. I have nothing left.

Bobby was in the otherwise empty and deserted kitchen. He was eating a bowl of cereal. "Hey, Rogue," he greeted me.

"Mornin'." I knew my words sounded crisp and cold, but I couldn't make my voice sound any different. I felt cold all the time now, as though my insides were made of ice. As though I would never be warm again. As a result, perhaps unconsciously, I was always trying to stay warm. I spent hours reading in front of the fireplace or sitting on the heat register. I wrapped up in blankets and ate warm foods. Nothing but warmth. I wanted heat in my life, and I had none. I slipped a bagel into the toaster, and went about making myself some tea. Coffee seemed too harsh for me lately. Tea was much more soothing.

For a while, Bobby said nothing while I made my breakfast. Then he got up to put his empty bowl in the sink, and said, "I hear Gambit's come back."

I closed my eyes around tears that threatened to form and fall. I didn't want to hear that name. Gambit. Remy. As if there was anything else on my mind. I silently raged at Bobby. True, he was probably my closest friend here, but sometimes, in trying to help others, get them to open up, he could be so insensitive. "Yeah," I replied, trying not to let my voice shake. "So?"

"Is there anything you want to talk about?"

I didn't want to talk. I just wanted to let myself suffer. I shook my head, ponytail swinging. "No, Ah'm fine, thanks." My bagel popped out of the toaster and I pretended to be completely absorbed in buttering it. I jumped when I felt Bobby's hand on my shoulder. It was too close, too close to my face, the only part of my body that was exposed...

"Rogue, I know about what happened in Antarctica. We all know you've been going through something awful since then, and you really should-"

"You," I told him without looking at him, "should mind yoah own business. Ah told ya, Ah'm fine. Ah don't wanna talk to anyone." Except Remy. I wanted more than anything to seek him out, to apologize to him, to swear I would never leave him again. But I didn't think I could handle that. It was too much. I closed my eyes again and pulled the tears back in.

Bobby sighed and I heard him leave. I ate my breakfast quickly, in silence, and then ran back up to my room, leaving my dirty dishes on the table. Immense waves of guilt, fear, and pity were threatening to overcome me, and I wanted to be alone when--if--they did. I locked my bedroom door, and threw myself down on the bed. As usual, my thoughts turned to Remy. My love, the thief of my heart. I bit back a sob.

What had I done to him? I wanted so badly to make sure he was all right, was functioning properly. No one had said anything about frostbite, but maybe they were trying to spare my feelings. I had had so many visions of him, dying in the cold, biting air, alone on a frozen tundra, with no food, no water, no warmth--nothing. And I was the one who had brought that upon him. I wanted to see him, to touch him, to explain myself. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't planned to leave him out there in Antarctica--it just sort of happened. I had felt so betrayed on the night of his trial. When I kissed him, and saw the pictures of himself leading the Marauders to kill the Morlocks, I didn't know what to do. I knew he had a dark secret in his past, and that he didn't want to share it with me. He didn't want me to be hurt. Just like him--always looking out for me.

When I absorbed his memories at the trial, I felt so much betrayal that I couldn't handle it. I panicked. I wanted to scream and shout, to kick at him. Why didn't you tell me? I wanted to scream. I would have understood, I would have still loved you, if only you had told me! It wasn't the fact that he was at the root of the problem of Archangel's Apocalypse problem, or that he was the one who had led to the death of hundreds of Morlocks. It was deeper than that, on a more personal level. I was being selfish. He hadn't trusted me with his secret. He claimed he loved me, yet he wouldn't tell me this, wouldn't trust me to feel the same way about him as I always did. That wasn't the way I wanted to find out--his memories floating in my head before the trial, and nearly going mad not being able to figure them out. I didn't want there to be people all around, with a stranger in the Erik the Red costume presuming over the trial. I didn't want to kiss him, to drag the memories out of his head involuntarily. I wanted it to be his choice. I wanted him to tell me. If we were ever going to have a relationship, it wasn't the not being able to touch me part that mattered. It was the rest of it, how we dealt with each other's pasts. I had never bothered to hide the fact that I used to be a member of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. I used to be a bad guy. I left Carol Danvers for dead. Sure, she's okay now, but that doesn't change what I did. It was this feeling at the trial, like, I trusted him, I gave him my all and told him everything I could--and still he didn't tell me.

He didn't tell me.

I wanted to tell him that when I pulled him out of the collapsing building, I was acting on my feelings. I had this passionate fury burning inside of me, at the betrayal I felt. I wanted him to suffer, the way I had. He had no idea how difficult this had been for me, to have the truth so close to me, inside of my head, and not know it! I wanted him to trust me, and he didn't. Even in the end, he didn't trust me. And that made me so angry, I wanted him to die. I left him there, in the ice and snow, and flew away, out of his life. Forever, I hoped.

But as time wore on, and my anger wore off, I realized how stupid I had been, throwing my only love away like that. I went back up there, searched for ages, but there were no signs of him. Just white, for miles around. He was gone. I had killed him. I had closed up on myself, letting no one in. I wanted to suffer. I wanted to feel the guilt and pity I had for myself, overwhelming myself. I just wanted to torture myself. I had held true love in my hands, and thrown it to the winds.

A knock on the door startled me, and I sat up. "Rogue? Some of us are going to the museum. Would you like to come?"

Ororo. What a wonderful woman. She was the one I looked up to the most. She was beautiful and wise, she led the team with ease. I could talk to her when I needed to. She was far too good to me. Remy was her best friend, her closest companion. And I would have let him die. By all rights, Ororo should have at least lost her temper with me, at most should have killed me. But she didn't so much as give me a scolding. I suppose if he had really died, she would have gotten angry. But maybe she knew, deep in her heart, that he was still alive, somewhere. She was so good to me. I didn't deserve it.

"Ah..." I found it difficult to speak around the brick that seemed to be lodged in my throat. "Ah guess so. Ah'll be out in a few minutes."

"All right."

They were all trying so hard, to make me feel better. They wanted me to forget Remy, to get on with my life. They wanted me to come out of my shell. But I wasn't going to. I was happy where I was. I was going to stay there.

It was almost worse now, now that Remy had come back. There was a good dollop of fear on top of the guilt and pity. I was so afraid of talking to him that I hardly even left my room. He would get angry. I would explain myself and he wouldn't understand. I would say I loved him, and realized that he would not return my love. I didn't think I could stand a rejection like that. I just wanted everything to be okay, but I was not willing to make that extra step to get there. I was so afraid that I was living in terror. He would be livid with me, and he had every right to be. But I didn't want to feel his anger. He was Gambit, my only love, my own Prince Charming. I was sure I wouldn't be able to handle his anger. He had never gotten angry with me before, even in Seattle. I had been so afraid in Seattle, too, and confused by all of the memories in my head. I hadn't had so many memories floating around like that since Carol Danvers, and it confused me. I was just too scared to dig deeper into his past, to absorb his memories again. Now that I think about it, I wish I had.

I started to get up, to leave, but it suddenly occured to me that maybe Remy was going to the museum too. I should have thought to ask. I didn't want to face him, didn't want to see the hurt and anger in his red-and-black eyes. I would tell him I was sorry, that I loved him and I forgave him. Everyone made mistakes. What would he say to that? Would he take me in his arms and call me "chere" and tell me it was all right? Or would he remind me of the most recent mistake I had made--leaving him to die? Would he bring love or more guilt upon me? I didn't want to know. I threw myself back on my bed. I didn't want to go to the museum anymore. I wanted to just...I didn't know what I wanted. But I did know that I didn't want to be around Gambit. I was too afraid to face him yet.

_He should have told me! _I silently screamed, digging my fists into my eyes as the tears began to fall. _He should have told me at the beginning! He should have trusted me with his deepest, darkest secret. It's his fault...everything's his fault! If we ever wanted a relationship, he should have told me. I should have known from the start..._But I knew better than that. In my head, I could tack the blame on him, could blame Remy for it all, but I knew it was my fault. I was the one who hadn't agreed to learn his past in Seattle. I was the one who left him to die in Antarctica. It felt so horrible. What was he feeling? Was he thinking that I had used him? I was feeling as though I had. It was a thick ache in my chest, something that told me that I was bad, awful, I was an evil person. It was all my fault.

There was another knock on the door. "Rogue?" This time it was Kitty. The doorknob rattled; she was probably trying to open the door. I planned to jump up, to pretend I hadn't been crying. I was going to call out to her that I was coming. But my body felt like lead, and my throat felt as though it was full of rocks. Kitty probably reacted in a worried way, which was why she phased through the door. "Rogue?" The question was much softer this time, soft and worried.

I coudn't do anything but sob into the cushion of my arms. _I left him to die, I left him to die. _Kitty sat on the bed, hugged me around the shoulders, being careful not to touch my face. That was what it all came down to. Those damn powers of mine were always getting in the way. That only made me cry harder. "What's wrong?" Kitty asked.

What's wrong. That was a stupid question. What else _could _be wrong? What else had I been obsessing over for nearly a month now? How many other stupid things had I done to ruin my loves' lives? I shook her arms off, sat up, swallowed around the lump in my throat. "Is Gambit going?" I asked shakily, wiping my tears away.

"To the museum?" Kitty asked, watching me with concern. "I don't think so. Why?"

"Ah...Ah can't be around him," I told her simply. "Can ya...just give me a minute? Ta...freshen up?"

"Sure." Kitty got up and stood by the door, but she didn't leave. She waited patiently for me, there next to the door. I pushed past her, went into the hall and then into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face, to hide the streaked trails of salt water left there. I toweled my face dry, until it was red, and then returned to my room, where Kitty was still waiting. I took a deep breath, and wondered if I was going to need makeup that day. Glancing in the mirror, I noticed that I looked pretty awful. Of course, I had every reason to look awful. Why shouldn't I look awful? I had probably ruined Remy's life with the stupid, selfish, childish things that I did. _I'm so selfish. I can't believe I did all of those things. I should have trusted him. He should have trusted me. How can I even face him now? _

"Are you angry with Gambit?"

I turned around sharply. Angry? With my one and only love? With the man who loved me unconditionally? How could I be angry with him? I was angry at myself, for being such a stupid girl. "Ah dunno," I answered softly, coldly. What could I say? That I was angry at him for "lying" to us all this time? That I was upset because he was the one who had driven Archangel to try to kill himself and to be used by Apocalypse as his pawn? I didn't care--Warren was okay, I guess, but he's a jerk. He deserved it, in my opinion. I knew if I told anyone else that, they wouldn't approve, so I kept my opinions to myself, but I thought that Warren was even more of a jerk than Scott was. "Ah guess not." I was still a little hurt by his "betrayal"--his betrayal to me, not to the X-Men or to Warren. I wanted to know the truth so badly and it had never come out. I was still a little hurt by that, but just a little. So little that the feeling was lost in the thick waves of guilt, fear, and pity.

"Then why don't you want to see him?" Kitty asked. It was a simple enough question. I could have told her, but I had never felt very close to her. She and Kurt and Peter had arrived just before Remy had, and she hardly knew Gambit. I couldn't confide in her. I couldn't confide in anyone. No one would understand how I felt.

"Ah dunno," I repeated. "It's mah business, Kitty."

"Sorry," she apologized. "It's just--everyone's worried about you. They all--we all--want you to talk to Gambit. Work things out. We're too big a family to let all this tension get between us like this."

A family. I was glad my back was to Kitty, so that she didn't see the tears brimming my eyes. Would a member of a family have dumped another member of the family out in Antarctica, to die? "Whose side are they on?" I asked quietly.

"I didn't realize that we were supposed to be taking sides."

I sighed. Why was I even trying to talk to her? If anyone, I would talk to Storm, who understood almost everyone. Or Jean, who didn't have that emotional attachment to Remy that made it difficult for me to talk to Ororo. Should I be angry at him? I wondered. I had not paused to think of how anyone else felt about his past. I only let myself sink into despair. But now I was beginning to wonder if I shouldn't use anger as my weapon. I wouldn't give him a chance to be angry at me, because I would be angry at him. We could argue. We could fight. Did I even deserve to be angry at him? Suddenly, I felt lost and more confused than before, but the other emotions cleared away for a moment. What should I do? Would I be able to stand under his angry gaze and not wither, if I had anger on my side as well?

"Are you ready?" Kitty asked, giving me a curious look.

Yes. Anger would do quite nicely. I could use it to my purpose, to keep myself from feeling the pain and guilt and pity. I could get angry at Remy before he could get angry at me. If I blocked out everything else and only remembered how betrayed I felt when the secret finally came out, how it was all Remy's fault, then maybe, maybe...

"Yeah. Lemme get mah coat." I pulled a thick, faux-fur lined parka out of my closet. I slipped it on, and gave Kitty a big, fake grin. "Let's go."

Kitty still suspected something, as we went downstairs to meet the others. I knew she suspected something. But I couldn't tell anyone anything. I had to keep it all to myself. I had to suffer silently, within my body. No one else would punish me, it seemed--not even Ororo. I had to be punished. My own feelings were my penance. I would suffer for what I had done to my only love. As we left the mansion, I pulled my parka closer around me, trying to find some feeling of heat from it. The rain was ice-cold, and some of it ran down my neck irritatingly, but I was more or less used to the cold. I was so lonely, so broken by what I had done, that the cold seemed to be permanently embedded in me. I would be cold forever, never being able to bask in the light and heat of Remy's love again. My core was made of ice. I was freezing. That was my penance--to suffer, to draw in upon myself, to never give myself the honor of feeling Remy's love again. It was too good for me. I would never feel warm again.


End file.
